


First, Last, Everything

by lvscmine



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: College!Killmonger, F/M, First Time, IT'S GOT BLOOD WARNING THERES BLOOD, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 08:23:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14637918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lvscmine/pseuds/lvscmine
Summary: The 'birth' of Killmonger, and the lucky lady he brought into his web.





	First, Last, Everything

The room seemed to be polluted with a layer of haze, the pungent scent of smoke and alcohol staining the once clean air. Bass rattled through every surface, the pink and blue lights rhythmically bouncing off every cracked wall. Bodies littered throughout the space, from women provocatively swiveling their hips on the makeshift dance floor, to the men that stood against the wall or at the portable bar. Whoever the DJ was couldn’t have been too popular outside the SoundCloud playlist circuit, because one too many experimental rap tracks had flown in and out of the atmosphere for it to be deemed otherwise. The dress code was black—most were adhering to the theme, making the place look straight out of a 90s hipster-black-bohemian fusion look book. In the room, it was almost like a New York summer to combat the oncoming winter outside. She was blending in as best she could. She had to. It was her means to cool down after business.

She would sip on her coke and rum and laugh at the girl with the braided Chinese buns in her hair, listening to the woman as she recounted the last three bum ass dudes that tried to holler at her. She would allow a couple males to speak to her, spit their stale game before she politely curved them and sent them on her way. She would tap her feet at some of the songs played through the speakers, and act like she wasn’t be watched. He had been watching her all night; he had been watching her before they even arrived at the party. He had been watching her before the study sessions, before the passed notes in their Physics class, before the freshman orientation group they had to lead together as community service hour credit for their degree programs. She would never know how much he already knew about her by the time they’d meet. She wouldn’t know that her choice for social isolation made her the perfect specimen for his experiment.

He was the most magnetic outsider M.I.T. had ever seen; he was never seen with an entourage, but there were always stories that surrounded him, like when the shrill perfectionist from her sophomore biology class raved about his organizational skills, or the time that that guy she’s in the math club with said that he knew at least six languages. He didn’t seem to like people, but people were ever curious about him. Although she’d never admit it, she was curious about him too, and she would be until the stars aligned for the two of them to officially meet. Now, she was the only one who knew that he was organized because he went to military-style schooling before he came to M.I.T. And, he does have a comic collection, along with manga and knives. She also knew that he knew how to slice a man’s neck open—she knew that, because he taught her how to do so a couple hours ago.

She could still smell blood on her top lip, almost like a secret layer of make-up beneath her foundation.

She stirred the thin black straw around her lowball glass before taking another demure sip, crossing one leg over the other as she finally found the courage to glance around the room. Finally, the DJ was playing songs that people knew, and as people became attracted to the dance floor and the couches became less crowded, it was harder than usual for her to not to keep her eyes on him. His usual hyper-attentiveness kept him sharp even with the haze in his eyes; she didn’t see him roll or pass any blunts, but the secondhand contact from the stoners he sat next to along with the overall atmosphere probably had gotten to him. Despite it, he had his surveillance everywhere still. With his dreads braided back, she could see the tight ticks of his angular jaw. Every so often, his plush lips would curl in an amused snarl, and he’d rap along to a few lyrics that flowed through the speakers. He seemed a bit more relaxed, and so was she. She figured now, their alibi was set in place—she didn’t have to act like she didn’t know him now.

She stood up and threw back the rest of her rum and coke, nearly slamming the glass on top of the bar before she sauntered over in his direction, gold-painted and clawed nails tugging at her leather skirt as she moved. Some people had their eyes on her, completely shocked by the sudden confidence of the campus geek. Once she approached him, she clasped her right hand over her left wrist, gold bangles hanging off her wrist and gleaming even in the shoddy club lights. She glanced over her full-moon shades, brown eyes aflame as she glanced over the male in as full of a view as her drunken eyes would allow her. It was like swallowing the sun, looking towards him, and she tried to ignore the heat that flickered through her muscles. Their gazes finally met, and he raised an eyebrow as he reached to grab her hand. Calloused fingers caressed hers, and her lips pressed together as she kept her eyes upon his mouth as it moved, being able to somehow hear him over the loud music:

“Come sit on my lap.”

Something told her that wasn’t a good idea, so she looked to his immediate left; two people were having the time of their lives making out. To his immediate right were two women talking shit about another that wasn’t too far away. She opted for his lap, for comfort’s sake. A strong arm looped around her waist, and the room suddenly felt smaller. More eyes seemed to roam in their direction, and she tried not to notice it as he reached to pull back the left sleeve of her shirt. His fingers gingerly inspected the skin of her forearm, from her wrist up to the crook of her elbow. She tilted her head as she glanced back at him, but his gaze was fixed upon her arm, still caressing the skin in an investigative manner.

Suddenly, he pressed a finger against a spot near her wrist, and he nodded before he looked towards her, and gestured towards the stairs.

* * *

 

The room didn’t seem used for much—aside from the sterile bed and the mixed smell of dust and faint bleach, it seemed like it was just another guest room, most likely for storage with the heaps of boxes that sat around. A small light from the bathroom, cold and bright, was the only source to cut through the darkness. The bass from downstairs was still present, but not as defined. The muffled voices of people rose and fell sporadically, but every so often a hiss or moan would slice through the semi-silent air—

“Shit…”

“Hold still.”

“I’m tryin’—shit, Erik!”

“I fuckin’ said hold still, didn’t I?”

Droplets of blood seeped from her skin, the bright red liquid contrasting against her brown skin. It was his favorite knife: a Fury Nobility Raindrop whittler. The blade was black 440 stainless steel, with gold accents. It was my daddy’s knife, he proudly explained when he first showed it to her. And now, it was digging into her skin to create a keloid—the same keloids he had been placing into his own skin lately. Now, she knew what they represented. He had about…75, including the new one she just put near his right nipple.

She hissed softly, thickened eyebrows knitting together as she tried to stave off the pain. “Erik,” She hissed.

“Almost,” He mumbled, and he pulled the blade away before he went to the rest of his small kit that laid next to him. He grabbed a small cotton pad and doused it in the alcohol he had. He held her arm as he cleaned the wound.

After a couple seconds of hissing, she watched him with curiosity, the adrenaline of fear and shock long fizzled out from the alcohol. One of her classmates said that he was nothing more than a ‘hot version of the typical school shooter,’ and that was probably one rumor she should have listened to. However, antisocial and sociopathic tendencies did not prove to be much more than common ground between the two of them. It was the reason why he didn’t sour at the fact that they had to be partners in the one class they had at the beginning of the year, or the reason why he found himself opening up to her. It was the reason why these days, the other side of her bed in her campus apartment seemed more comfortable than his whole one at his. It was the reason why she didn’t mind him doing…this, to her.

He wrapped her wound just light enough that she knew she wouldn’t see the end of that scar for quite some time, if ever. She watched as he lifted the blade and licked her remaining blood off the steel, without a thought or hesitation.

She gasped, and their eyes locked. The corner of his lips twitched upward, for a millisecond.

* * *

 

His mouth tasted like Hennessy and copper. Her blood and his intoxication.

She could still feel his tongue on her taste buds even though the muscle, long and thick, had long left her mouth to slither down the exposed parts of her body. Turtleneck, skirt, and ankle booties discarded to the wooden floor, her black bra was halfway on, her breasts spilling over the flimsy lace fronts. Goosebumps and drying saliva were left behind along a hickey-ridden neck, a nibbled collarbone, wet nipples, and even as he trailed his tongue around her pierced navel. He reached for the stockings she had on before he—

“Wait,” She halted him and surprisingly, he obliged. “You know I’m…” The words got caught in her throat; she looked away from him instead.

Drunken rounds of truth or dare during the preliminary time of their friendship revealed to him that she had yet to let a man touch her sexually. If he ventured any further, he’d be the first. Considering how many women came and went from his bedroom, she figured that it would be the nail in the coffin for any possibility of anything between them, but as she had learned early in their friendship, nothing seemed to stop this man from getting what he truly desired. So, in his own special way, tried to make the moment romantic. He leaned down and brushed his lips against her hip, his tongue gliding over her birthmark. “I don’t care if you don’t, princess,” He mumbled against her skin. The nickname was the closest thing to endearment for him. She took it for what it was.

“At least, leave the stockings on,” She pleaded.

He smirked and ripped the crotch open.

The pads of his fingers dragged down her sides before he took grip of those thick hips she used to be so ashamed of, the hips he’d purposely grab when he passed by her: once a teasing gesture, now his favorite place. Her chest hitched upward at the feeling of his tongue against the crotch of her panties, eyes closing at the quiet mention of the wet spot that was already there. He hadn’t touched her all night aside from this, but the thrill of the kill earlier seemed to get her started hours ago. Then, the essence of him always seemed to take her further. The fact that she now knew he was a murderer for sport should have been the ultimate red flag to stay far away from him—if not call somebody’s authorities—but here she was, a murderer herself. The knowledge of the blood on his hands only enticed her more and was more foreplay than this could ever be. But she’d be damned if it wasn’t a great perk.

And damn, was it a perk. He had never even seen her in her undergarments, yet he knew her body more than she knew herself. She had watched how-to videos, explored herself, and tried to be somewhat prepared for the night she’d relinquish her virginity. The guy’s gotta know how to make you feel good, her mother said, her friends said, the tapes said. But somehow, it seemed that he was so in-tune with her that instruction wasn’t needed. Every swipe of his tongue against her clit made her legs slightly tighten around his head, and now she wished he had kept the dreads down so that she could have something to hold on to. “Shit,” She hissed when she heard the loud and sloppy sucking from between her thighs. She opted to take grip of his bun, instead, while the other hand held to the back of his neck, nails slowly raking against the faded parts of his head. His tongue darted against her clit like fierce and rapid punches to a body; the patterns changed consistently, from slow and covered licks to fleeting flicks that would make her feel as if she was hitting the loops on a rollercoaster. He’d never allow her to be comfortable, never allowed her to be bored. He grunted softly, and she yelped at the sudden prodding of his tongue inside her. It wiggled against every inch of her walls, against spots she didn’t know she had—spots that made her tremble from the inside out. Her lower stomach was tickling with a building pressure, and her eyes rolled back when she felt a vibration against her heat. “So good,” Was heard, muffled from below. His eating went from depraved and wild to slow and deliberate, almost passionate. Letting out a soft cry, she dug her nails into the back of his neck as she squeezed her eyes shut, the numbing pleasure striking her body. Her thighs squeezed together tightly, no longer caring if he could breathe.

Eventually, she did loosen her grip. Body somewhat limp against the bed, she glanced up at him as he rose from between her legs, sitting up on his knees before leaning back to slide off his sneakers. She noticed the dampness of the neckline of his shirt, and then in a blink, he was lifting the shirt off him. Suddenly, the bathroom light flickered and shut off with faulty finality, but with the continuous music downstairs, it had to have just been the lightbulb. The glint of the moon shined through the window and against the brown skin of her mate, and she noted the start of what would be a glorious trail to victory. Her fingers reached to trace his scars, then ran the tip of her nail over the newest one. He hissed in pain, and her clit twitched as she moved to play with his nipple as a silent apology. A half-assed one, because she knew they both liked the suffering.

Her eyes averted back to his face, and she noticed the faraway look in his eyes. “Erik?” She gasped softly when she felt his index and middle finger press against her clit, the slow and soft circles being a bit of a shocker to her senses.

Dark eyes looked over her body, and she suddenly felt even more exposed than she actually was. “Nobody tapped this shit but me? I almost don’t wanna believe it,” He mumbled, and she let out a shuddering breath when she felt his fingers sink into her hole. “Damn…you still tight, even with you being so wet,” He taunted, and she allowed a strained moan in response as she heard the quiet gush of her supply. She always felt that maybe she would be playfully defiant at a time like this, just to rouse him to bring out his full brutality upon her. She couldn’t even bring herself to do it—the joy on his face as he dragged his large fingers in and out of her and the sultry sound of his voice was so intoxicating that submission was her only option now. “Look at you, filled up already,” He licked over his lips, and she felt a jolt in her legs. “Let’s see how you gon’ take this dick, shorty.”

They never took their eyes off one another as he disrobed his bottom half and put on the condom, but she lost the staring battle once his tip tapped against her clit. “You ready, baby?” His voice was deep, seductive, almost soothing.

“Been ready,” She taunted. He chuckled lowly before he leaned over her, gripping her hip to keep her in place. She hissed, her eyes instantly closing upon contact. “Shit!”

The initial entrance felt like fucking hell. The stretching, the pain, the piercing burn that struck through her body seemed to be never ending. Even with how wet she was, it seemed to be no defense against his weight. “Oh my God,” She gasped for air, her eyes watering before she blinked the tears away. He inched into her, one hand pressed to the mattress while the other stayed on her hip. He watched her, unmoving, inaudible, almost emotionless. He would slide out of her slowly, giving her a brief moment of reprieve only to slide back in and stretch her once more, adding a bit of length every time. Eventually, he was placing his whole self within, and she felt like she could barely breathe. She could feel the heat through every inch of her body, threatening to scorch her to the core.

Eventually, it didn’t feel so bad. The burn went from excruciating to savory, and she let out the first moan of pleasure. “There you go,” He breathed, and he began a more continuous stroke. Her hands slid around his neck as her eyes fell closed, allowing herself to savor the dull, pleasurable ache that came from the friction. She heard him let out a soft grunt, and her walls clenched around him in response. “So fucking tight,” He whispered, and she bit her lip as her eyes cracked open, noting the quiver of his bottom lip and the lowered lids of his eyes. This was the most peaceful she had ever seen him, aside from when he was covered in blood earlier. Her fingers rose to his cheeks, feeling his jaw tighten under her palms. He laced her lips with a chaste kiss, and a moan filtered through their mouths as he dug his teeth into her bottom lip, the cool of his gold canines feeling like searing heat against her warming skin.

Just like a man, to be tamed by carnage and pussy.

His hand moved from the mattress to the crook of her left knee, as the other moved to the right; she gasped a bit as he lifted himself from her, pressing her legs to his chest as he began to speed up his stroke, the soft padding of their bodies turning into profound smacks. She whimpered slightly as she dug her nails into the back of his neck, her eyes falling close again as she allowed her mind to get wrapped up in her buzz, in his scent, in the faded music, in his stroke. Everything swirled together in a chaotic cocktail that she seemed to have guzzled down a tad too quickly. She was lightheaded, her core was overstimulated, the room felt like it was on fire. She had to have been dancing with the devil, or at least, the devil’s son. This had to have been what Hell was, personified.

Still, all she could do was cry out for him. “Erik,” She wailed. “Baby, don’t stop…”

She felt his tongue trail her jawline. “Gotdamn it, girl,” He growled, and she squealed when he found a new spot to stroke into. “You gon’ be this wet for me, we gotta make a hit more often,” He joked, a dry chuckle tumbling from his lips after.

“Let’s do it,” She whispered, and she felt him bury his whole length inside her again, his movements coming to a complete halt. They locked eyes, and she bit into her lip as she read the astonished look on his face, felt the heavy heave of his chest, felt the throb of him inside her. “I mean it,” She insisted, and the wild look in his eyes returned; he suddenly slid out of her before he rammed himself back into her, causing her to let out an unhinged scream. Her mouth hung open for a moment as she tried to formulate her feelings into coherent thoughts. “Until you reach your goal…until you get what you want, baby,” She encouraged, and she heard him let out a small moan, allowing her legs to wrap back around his waist again. “We’ll keep at it until you do what you need to do,” He grabbed her wrists and held them above her head, and her eyes closed as their fingers tightly laced together. “For all of us.”

He let out a moan-laced laugh, delirious with pleasure and power; she laughed, too. “You fuckin’ crazy bitch,” He praised, and she felt soft, delicate kisses against her neck as his hands slipped out of hers and down her arms. Then, the warm palm of his hand laid over the column of her neck. He squeezed. “I knew it was you,” Harder. “You were the one,” He held her neck with both hands, now. This wasn’t entirely what she thought her first time would be. Maybe a bit raunchy, sure, but she surely didn’t expect to be getting choked and bottomed out in a room above an active party. However, she surely didn’t expect to meet a man like this…a man with so many convictions, so much reasoning, so much madness. She’d feed it any way she could, because he had the keys to the future. And when it came time for history to turn itself on its head, she wanted to be on the right side of it. She wanted to be on his side.

“Erik,” Her eyes rolled back, his name sounding like sugar from her lips.

“You mine,” He whispered in her ear. “You hear me, princess? Mine.”

“Yours,” The words squeaked through stressed windpipes. “And you’re mine.”

“Mm, shit, yeah baby, I’m yours…” He hissed. “All yours…” Another weak moan escaped him.

His thrusts were almost inhumane, and pain and pleasure now mingled together within their realm. He cared not for the bruising they may have been suffering together from his pounding, nor did she care about the scratches she was making against his back. Their moans, groans, grunts, and screams, could probably be heard all the way downstairs, but who was going to stop them? In their madness, nothing else mattered but the pleasure that had surmounted over their own odd way of courting. She could feel him all over her body, in the pit of her stomach, in her mind. There would and could be no one else to fulfill her desires. She felt like she was within the stars, or engulfed by the same sunshine that he’d tell her he was going to find and relish in. She felt as if she was in the lands he’d speak about, the fairy tales he said he thought could never exist. He felt like the fairy tale that could never exist, yet here he was, indulging her and fitting the perfect role as her prince, her knight in darkened armor.

His voice, sharp and commanding, sliced through the delirious fantasy, and brought her back to earth: “Cum with me, baby, come on.”

Her mind felt cloudy as pleasure overtook her body, and she squealed loudly, his name ripping from her throat with violent force. Her eyes squeezed shut as sharp shivers tingled down her spine, and her thighs trembled as she felt the room begin to spin. She whimpered and cried as she looked for something to anchor herself to, unable to take the heat spreading throughout her body. She heard his loud curses, rumbling through the air like thunder, his thrusts slowing, but never truly stopping. She sobbed loudly as her body trembled, and she felt his hands cradle her head tightly before his lips smashed into hers. Their mouths fused together sloppily as he prolonged the orgasm, soft mutters of how much of a good girl she was lost in the raunchy contact until his strokes finally came to a stop.

Her body seemed to go limp as she released her grip on his body, and she closed her eyes as she felt his weight finally lift from her chest. She let out a small breath of relief, only to let out a loud scream of overstimulation when she felt his fingers gently rub at her clit. “Shit, shit, shit, fuck, stop nigga!” She smacked his hand, and he let out a loud laugh as he plopped back against the other side of the mattress.

Bass still rumbled through her bones from downstairs as she stared dazed at the ceiling fan, mulling over what she had just shared with one of the only friends she had on campus, her best friend, and now more than likely her boyfriend for the time being. He had become her first, and if he had it his way, he’d be her last. She wouldn’t say she was ever pining for affection, but this wasn’t something she would complain about.

She watched as he grabbed her right hand, bringing it across her so that he could kiss her bandage, right where her scar would be. The peaceful look upon his face would be the last thing she saw before she drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell that he's my muse? Lol.


End file.
